The Chomolungma Diaries: What a commercial Everest expedition is really like (Footsteps on the Mountain travel diaries)

by Mark Horrell

  "But we could feel no regret for this loss, so enchanted were we by the spectacle of Pumori; though its summit was little higher than our own level, it was, as it always is, a singularly impressive sight. The snow-cap of Pumori is supported by splendid architecture; the pyramidal bulk of the mountain, the steep fall of the ridges and faces to south and west, and the precipices of rock and ice towards east and north, are set off by a whole chain of mountains extending west-north-west along a frail, fantastic ridge unrivalled anywhere in this district for the elegant beauty of its cornices and towers.

  "No more striking change of scenery could be imagined than this from all we saw to the east, the gentle snowy basin; the unemphatic lines of the slopes below and on either side of the Lhakpa La, dominated as they are by the dullest of mountains, Khartaphu; the even fall of rocks and snow from the east ridge of Changtse and from the northeast ridge of Everest. Pumori itself stood only as a symbol of this new wonderful world before our eyes as we stayed to look westwards, a world exciting, strange, unearthly, fantastic as the skyscrapers in New York City, and at the same time possessing the dignity of what is enduring and immense, for no end was visible or even conceivable to this kingdom of adventure."

  George Mallory in The Assault on Everest (ed. Charles Bruce)

  Although he explains it much more poetically than I can, I disagree with him in one respect, or perhaps the serac wall I've emerged from was longer 90 years ago. Behind and to the right of Pumori are two much larger peaks, the higher of which has a flat top from this angle. These can only be Cho Oyu and Gyachung Kang, the two peaks Mallory said he couldn't see.

  The greater view though, is straight ahead of me up the North Ridge. A smooth snow slope rises 400 to 500 metres, with dozens of figures crawling up it on a fixed rope. It looks almost sheer from where I stand, but slopes always seem deceptively steep when you're looking at them head-on. Above the smooth slope the mountain is mostly rock with a few dapples of snow. Immediately above the snowline the North Ridge continues as a sprawling 400 metre campsite, Camp 2, stretching up towards the Northeast Shoulder, a place where the North Ridge meets the Northeast Ridge, which continues onward to our right, crowning the North Face all the way to the summit. Some people have chosen to camp just above the snowline, but I know our camp is sited somewhere near the top in order to give ourselves a shorter day tomorrow. The black rock of Everest's summit ridge and pyramid is a daunting sight, but also inspiring, for the summit is only 1800 metres above me, and for the first time it seems within my grasp.

  Climbers on the North Ridge, with the summit up above

  I plod slowly uphill. To begin with it's not very steep, but the gradient gradually increases the higher I get. I can see what look to be a couple of flatter areas higher up where groups of climbers are sitting down to rest. These areas keep me motivated to push on up an otherwise featureless slope. I'm not the only person needing motivation. Ahead of me I see Mila sit down in the snow.

  "I can't carry this big weight," she says as I pass.

  "You can put the juice [oxygen] on if you're tired," I reply. "That should get you moving again."

  A little while later I look back and see she's resumed climbing again without her oxygen. It's going to be a long old struggle today, and I know there are going to be a few moments like that for me too.

  A hundred metres higher up I catch up with Mark and Ian in their identical his and hers yellow Rab down suits (don't ask me which is which), sitting down in the snow and taking a rest. I collapse in a heap and join them.

  "How are you feeling?" I ask.

  "Fucked," says Mark. I don't know what I was expecting him to say.

  "You're supposed to be. This is Everest," I reply, still needing to pinch myself that it really is, and the summit's just there above us. "But you're not thinking of turning round are you?"

  "Fuck no!" he grunts.

  I don't ask about his fingers. I know from experience that if it's only down to stamina then Mark will struggle on no matter what, but his fingers and toes are the critical factor. He's had to abandon several summits because of frozen digits, including on Manaslu last year when Ian and I both reached the summit. We all want him to succeed, but until any of us actually see him near the summit there will remain that niggling feeling of doubt.

  We resume climbing together, with Mark in the lead to begin with. When we reach an anchor point in the fixed ropes at about 7300 metres, halfway up the snow slope, we meet Pasang Nima. He's been instructed to wait for each of us in turn, and help us put our oxygen masks on. Although my aim was to reach the snowline before I started on the juice, when he reaches inside my pack and fits the mask to my face I don't resist. We're noticeably quicker when we set off again, though this feeling only lasts for a short while before the numbing reality of the tedious snow plod takes over again. Ian goes on ahead, but Mark and I run into a bottleneck of climbers. They walk very slowly, taking only a few steps at a time before stopping for a few moments to rest. These pauses are only short, but I find them agonising and would much prefer to continue onwards. They remind me of the weight on my back, and I have to lean forwards on my ice axe with my torso in a horizontal position to pretend the weight isn't there.

  Eventually after what seems like hours we reach the top of the snow slope, where Ian is waiting with a few other people at the start of the rocks. We plod agonisingly up to join him. Above this the route continues on loose rock. Phil had described this part as a trail, but there's also a fair amount of scrambling required to get up it. With the terrain now more varied, however, I find it easier. It's not long before we pass the first tents, but I know we still have a long way to go before we reach ours.

  Camp 2 is a sprawling mass of jagged loose rock with tents crammed onto every tiny platform. The trail zig-zags through, marked by a pink fixed rope to clip into. Most people seem to be camping in the lower sections, and many have just arrived, dumping their kit across the trail and providing additional obstacles to step around. I pass a Sherpa wearing a green Ozark jacket crouched on the path. Ozark are a Chinese outdoor clothing company, which means he probably belongs to the large Chinese team or is one of the Tibetan rope fixers. I ask him to move out of the way, but he shuffles only slightly and I have to take a big step over him. As I begin to move on he taps me on the back and I look round. I've put a big hole in his down jacket with one of my crampons and all the feathers are spilling out.

  "I'm so sorry," I say. "Do you have any tape?"

  He looks at me blankly with his fingers over the tear. I feel really bad, but there's not much I can do. I'm not carrying tape or needle-and-thread to help repair the jacket, and the rest of my team is still camped 200 vertical metres above. After indicating again how sorry I am, I can only turn and continue onwards. Sherpas are inventive and it's likely he will find a solution. I hope I haven't jeopardised his summit push.

  Higher up there's a lot more space, and tents are no longer crammed onto every shelf. Although it's hard work now I'm glad we've decided to camp right at the top. Eventually I see Chongba above me and give him a wave. I look back and see Ian, Mark and Mila not far behind me; it's only three o'clock and our Camp 2 is at 7815 metres. I feel like I've made good time, but as I crawl into our tent Grant tells me he's already been here two hours. He ate well at Camp 1 but that's an amazing performance, and he seems to be peaking at just the right time.

  Ours is literally the highest tent in camp, and it feels like we have the luxury villa looking out over the rest of the village. The North Col is out of sight beneath us, and the summit of Changtse beyond it is below us now. There's even some privacy and a few flat areas to go for a reasonably comfortable crap. I take advantage of this opportunity for the last time in three days. At Chongba's suggestion we devise a new sleeping system, lying crossways inside the tent with the doors to either side. The tent tapers at the doorways, so as the tallest person I have to sleep in the middle, but I try out my new position and discover that it's long enough, and we now have much
more space between us. Grant continues to eat well, and wolfs down a packet of dehydrated rice and chicken. Chongba urges me to eat as much as I can, but I struggle. He knows I need the energy, and as my personal Sherpa on summit day, he's keen for me to be successful as he wants to reach the summit as well. I force down half a dozen mouthfuls, but then I feel like I'm going to throw up. I take a few deep breaths and manage to keep it down, but that's as much as I can do and I certainly can't eat any more of it. I snack on fun-sized Snickers and Mars bars, but even they're a struggle. Chongba boils up plenty of tea and juice though, and I feel reasonably well-hydrated when we turn into our bags at around seven o'clock.

  38. The highest campsite in the world

  Friday 18 May, 2012 - Camp 3, Everest, Tibet

  I sleep restlessly, but in the morning Grant tells me he's slept like a baby with his oxygen mask on.

  "Lucky you," I reply. "The mask's uncomfortable to sleep with. I don't feel I got any benefit from my oxygen."

  He leans over and looks at the regulator on my oxygen cylinder. "I can see why," he says.

  I look myself, and it's showing the same reading as it did last night, which means I slept all night with the thing strapped to my face, but didn't actually breathe in any oxygen. I had trouble with the mask on Manaslu last year, and it seems I still haven't quite got the hang of it.

  Chongba is in no hurry to depart this morning, and rests in the tent long after the sun has hit without rolling over to put the stove on.

  "How far today, Chongba?" Grant eventually asks.

  "Today short day. Two hour."

  "Two hours?" we both cry simultaneously. "For Inji [Westerner] or Sherpa?"

  "For Inji," he replies.

  I find it hard to believe, as we have four or five hundred metres of vertical ascent today. He is a wise man and I trust him, and if it's true then we really have no reason to hurry this morning only to spend the rest of the afternoon at an inhospitable campsite over 8000 metres. But one by one the rest of our team pass by our tent on their way up; first Ian and Mark at eight o'clock, and then Phil, who stops to tell us it will take five hours. Chongba laughs at this, but it seems more reasonable for me given my usual speed of ascent. I begin to get anxious trapped between my two faster tent mates, and sensing my restlessness Chongba begins hurriedly packing away. He fits my mask to a fresh cylinder, and outside the tent he helps me fit my crampons to my boots, which I had been fumbling with in my hurry to get moving.

  Grant and I leave Camp 2 at nine o'clock, and in one respect Chongba turns out to be right: Grant continues to climb like a nervous sheep in a field of New Zealand farmers and reaches Camp 3 in only two hours, but I take a more laboured pace. The path out of Camp 2 diverts away from the North Ridge and makes a shortcut to the adjoining summit ridge by crossing slabs underneath. To begin with there's a relatively easy snow-clad trail slanting diagonally upwards. Although I'm much slower than Grant, this type of terrain is no problem for me and I make my own good time up it, overtaking both Mila and Margaret when they stop for a rest. It becomes harder soon afterwards, though. There's a steep snow slope to climb, followed by a short section of rock scrambling. A continual line of Sherpas seems to be catching me up at this section, and although I wait to let some of them by, there doesn't seem to be any way to make progress other than by climbing in among them, and it's exhausting trying to maintain a pace which doesn't slow them down too much. Much of the time I find myself inelegantly hauling myself up the fixed rope with my jumar rather than taking the trouble to climb properly, which would take much longer. When I reach the top of the scramble I flop down exhausted and find myself sitting next to Chongba and Kami, a younger Sherpa Phil has nicknamed Mad Dog on account of his manic grin and ability to drink barrels-worth of alcohol. Both are smiling, and Chongba asks if I'm OK. I nod as I get my breath back, and I continue to rest for a few minutes after they've gone.

  Ascending above Camp 2

  There remains one final agonising snow slope into camp. The trail is no longer slanting up the mountainside, and turns left to take the direct route upwards. As if to remind me where I am, a howling blizzard wells up and the climbing becomes thoroughly unpleasant as I feel the cold snowflakes whip against my cheeks. At the top I catch up with Mark, and we're surprised to see the first tents of Camp 3 appear out of the gloom. We're on a 20 to 30 degree slope of loose rock and slabs, in a thick mist with snow lashing against us. I'm exhausted and have no idea where our tents are pitched, but if this campsite sprawls as much as Camp 2 then it's going to take a long time to find them. I consider taking off my pack to get out my radio and call Phil, but behind me I hear Mark shout.

  "Look, there's Ian."

  Much to my relief they're only a few metres away from us, but once I'm unclipped from the fixed rope it's not easy making my way across the loose sloping rubble to our tent. Chongba helps me with my crampons again and I climb inside. This is by far our least comfortable pitch. Our legs are sloping downwards at a considerable angle and I have a large rock right underneath both shoulder blades. As soon as I lie down on it I slide down to the bottom of the tent. Grant helps me inflate my Thermarest and suggests I put my boots underneath it to raise the level of the lower part of my body. This makes for an even more irregular surface to lie on, but it works, and keeps me in place without sliding downwards. It's not exactly comfortable, though, and I feel like I'm lying on a bed of rocks, which isn't far from the truth.

  I spend the afternoon in a state of nervous tension. Eating and drinking proceeds in the same manner as previous days: despite being at 8210 metres, the highest campsite in the world and the highest I've ever been in my life, Grant continues to eat like Mr Creosote while I force down what I can. But Chongba keeps us all hydrated as we drink copious quantities of mint tea. I have a bit of kit adjustment to do in the afternoon, by finding a way to prop the oxygen cylinder vertically inside my otherwise empty pack. This may sound trivial, but in fact it's quite important. During summit day on Manaslu last year the cylinder fell horizontally into the bottom of my pack, which meant the tube on my mask was barely long enough to reach my face and the pack hung sideways on my back. I must have been hunching my shoulders during my ascent in order to keep the mask in place, but I didn't notice until I started to descend. By then my neck and shoulders were so painful that my two day descent was agonising, and by the time I reached Base Camp I was stooping like a 100 year old man. It was several days before my neck felt better again, and I'm keen to avoid the problem this time around. Luckily I discover a sleeve for a hydration system in the interior of my pack, which the oxygen cylinder slides into perfectly. I show Chongba so that he knows where to put the cylinder if he ends up changing it for me during our ascent.

  Our setting here at Camp 3, high above the clouds near the top of Everest's sheer North Face with the rest of the world far beneath us, is hard to ignore. While the temptation is to laze inside our tent, Grant and I both summon up the motivation to step outside and take photographs of the Northeast Ridge and summit pyramid a short distance above us. It doesn't seem very far at all now, but heaven only knows what tomorrow is going to be like. Surprisingly, all around us is rock, and there doesn't seem to be much evidence of snow apart from a few small patches

  We have a series radio calls between tents as we prepare for our summit attempt. The first is at three o'clock, when Phil gives the final weather forecast that has come through on his satellite phone. The wind speeds are going to be the same as they have been on previous days - very light - and it's going to be a good summit window, as was predicted during our emergency meeting down at Base Camp, which now seems an eternity ago and certainly took place in a different world. We still don't know what time we'll be leaving for the summit. Phil wants to leave at 10pm (or 12.15am China time), but although there are not too many people camped here, he wants to avoid them if possible. The rope fixers of the China Tibet Mountaineering Association are also here, and they want to regulate departure times to avoid traffic ja
ms. Phil thinks they will want to schedule people into time slots, and when we have our second radio call later in the afternoon, he confirms we've been given the 11.30 slot (or 1.45am China time), which he seems happy enough with.

  With our plans in place, there are three hours left for me to lie back on my rock and boots and try to grab what sleep I can. Very little, as it turns out. Not only is my bed uncomfortable, but there seems to be a very noisy and restless group camped right next to us who keep gibbering on for hours. They eventually leave at ten o'clock and I drift off for a few short minutes, but at 10.30 it's time for us to begin preparing for our summit attempt.

  39. The First Step

  Saturday 19 May, 2012, part 1 - Summit Day, Everest, Tibet

  It's 11.30pm Nepali time (1.45am China time) when we leave and begin walking up the diagonal trail out of Camp 3. Somewhere high above us this trail leads up onto the summit ridge at a place called the Exit Cracks. But I have a problem almost immediately with my oxygen mask. Every few metres it gags against my nose and mouth, causing me to suffocate. I loosen it with my hand and allow some ambient air in, but it's happening too frequently. If I suddenly start suffocating during a difficult move then it could potentially be very dangerous. I need to do something about it, so I stop and remove the mask completely, putting it back on again in a different position. I've never been very happy with my oxygen apparatus, either here on Everest or on Manaslu, the only other occasion I've used it. It seems to be one of the most unreliable pieces of equipment I've ever used, but it's a very important one. When it works it's obvious that it's working brilliantly, but more often than not I suspect I'm not deriving as much benefit from it as I should be, as was clearly the case in our tent down at Camp 2. And the gagging issue seems to be random. I've repositioned the mask, but I'm going to have to keep my fingers crossed it doesn't happen again.